


closest to the heart

by winchilsea



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Cheesy Shoujo Tropes, Fluff without Plot, M/M, Post-Canon, second button
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-13 22:31:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14122227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winchilsea/pseuds/winchilsea
Summary: Viktor finds Yuuri’s old gakuran when he gets sent up to the attic during wedding preparations.





	closest to the heart

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on [tumblr](http://winchilsea.tumblr.com/post/161595225647/closest-to-the-heart). it's just barely long enough that i decided to post it on its own instead of in the fic compilation. trying to do some housecleaning and finally post things on ao3.

Viktor finds Yuuri’s old gakuran when he gets sent up to the attic during wedding preparations. Hiroko, while Yuuri’s back is turned, winks at him and asks if he wants to see the albums of Yuuri’s schooldays.

Who is Viktor to say no.

He sneaks away, citing a bathroom break, and arms himself with a flashlight and the sample wedding invitation where Hiroko has written down what the box is labeled. It’s some atrocious glossy ivory affair that they weren’t going to pick anyway, so Yuuri won’t miss it.

It’s dusty in the attic, the air permeated with the smell of aged wood and cardboard. Viktor didn’t know what this smelled like until Yu-topia, and first and foremost associates it with the warmth of a lively, lived-in home.

He clicks the flashlight on and swings to the corner of the room, half-anticipating something to jump out at him.

There’s nothing except piles of boxes, so Viktor gets right to it. He finds the box in question quickly—the writing on the boxes are identical to the writing on the wedding invitation. Sneezes a few times from the dust as he picks it out from the middle of a stack.

He sees the albums, but a smaller box inside catches his attention. The lid is adorned with a wave pattern, the box itself a deep blue. He pries the lid off with a single finger, absently curious about its contents—maybe homework, or trinkets, or his diploma—and thus isn’t prepared for what he finds.

“Oh,” Viktor says. There’s an unpleasant feeling in his chest. 

Putting everything back where he found it and taking only a single album, he exits the attic. The album he places under his pillow before rejoining Yuuri and Hiroko downstairs.

Yuuri looks up at him curiously when he enters the room, but Viktor flashes him a smile before sitting down, laughing away Yuuri’s instantaneous frown of worry and distracting him with color schemes.

Later that night, while Yuuri is brushing his teeth, Viktor pulls out the album and flips through its pages. Most of the pictures are of Yuuri, stiff and awkward as though Hiroko or someone made him pose unwillingly. There are others too. Yuuri on the ice. Yuuri holding a medal. Yuuri caught unawares while tying his shoes.

Viktor sees photos of crowds with Yuuri at the forefront. Lively events with people wearing yukata or a crowd of students dressed in their uniforms. Mari, Yuuko, and Nishigori make frequent appearances. Hiroko and Toshiya feature in a few as well. He sees Minako in fewer than he expected, but after a while he realizes it’s because she’s behind the camera. Sometimes he catches an unfamiliar face—a fellow classmate or competitor—and scrutinizes the photo. Holds the face in his mind, counting how many times they reappear.

“Viktor?” Yuuri looks alarmed. “Is that—where did you even _find_ that?” He crawls on the bed, trying to snatch it from Viktor’s hands. “No,” he moans. “Don’t look. My haircut— _my face_.”

“Your face is cute,” Viktor says, confused. He looks again at the photos. Yuuri as a teenager had full cheeks, an endearing plumpness that seemed to positively radiate from him.

Yuuri takes his distraction as his opportunity to strike and gets his hands on the album. “Drop it,” he says in the same tone he uses to tell Makkachin to put suspicious trash down.

“No,” Viktor says. “Who was it?”

“What?”

“Was it him?” Viktor points at a photo of some gangly-limbed classmate. He looks like he would be the popular type. The heartbreaker type. The type who rolls up his sleeves and doesn’t button the top button. The secondary cool character who exists solely to create a love triangle.

Yuuri manages to wrench the album from Viktor’s hold and firmly closes it. “I need context, Viktor.”

“Your _second button_. It’s missing from your uniform. Who did you give it to?” He says this wildly, and from a distance recognizes that a cheap button from high school is nothing compared to a proposal in Barcelona.

(As with most things, recognition of his own dramatics do not deter Viktor.)

Yuuri traces the floral patterns on the album with his index finger and rolls his eyes like he can read Viktor’s thoughts. “Who do you _think_ I gave it to?”

Of course. Viktor feels that familiar pang of envy, wishing he could go back in time and send his younger self packing to Japan, to experience all these parts of Yuuri that other people get to claim ownership over but not him.

“Yuuko.”

Yuuri smiles, eyes crinkling, and says, “I mailed it to you.”

Viktor feels dizzy. He has to—he needs to call Yakov immediately, find out where his old fanmail has gone. Maybe he still has it somewhere. A button is shiny and interesting enough for him to keep, right? If not, there are private investigators who can track—

“Just kidding.” Yuuri waves his hand in Viktor’s face. “I gave it to Nishigori.”

“Nishigori?” Viktor repeats, voice hoarse from losing ten years of his life.

“Nishigori gave Yuuko his second button, and then demanded mine, and then Yuuko gave me her ribbon.”

Yes, there was a piece of cloth folded with the gakuran as well. He didn’t take much notice of it. The envy is still there. He wants to be able to weave himself into Yuuri’s life, but there’s still so much that he doesn’t know, parts of him that clearly belong to other people.

And then, at the same time—

“Oh,” Viktor says, reaching out to push the damp strands of Yuuri’s hair out of his face. “You were so loved.”

Yuuri turns red, looking away.

“Come here.” The blanket is lifted to make room for Yuuri, who curls up next to Viktor. They fit together. “Tell me about what you were like in high school. You got handmade chocolates didn’t you? And love letters, I bet. How could anyone see you and not want you?”

Yuuri has to bury his face in Viktor’s shoulder, but the stories get pulled out him piece by piece. Viktor listens, hoarding the memories being given to him.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](http://winchilsea.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/mountliang)!


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